


so take a chance with me

by rory_the_dragon



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Freddie's Black and White Drag Birthday, M/M, Maycury Week, Mentions of Mr Bad Guy, Post Live Aid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: Brian and Freddie share a moment during Freddie's 39th Birthday Party.(Written for Maycury Week: Day Four)





	so take a chance with me

**Author's Note:**

> very small and not really worth posting to ao3 but i couldn't let the date past without observing it the proper way.

The party is in full, decadent swing when Brian spots Freddie slipping out of the french doors at the back of the club, epaulettes glittering in the dark.

Brian lost track of him nearly half an hour ago, somewhere in the madness of it all, and while there’s certainly been enough distractions to keep him occupied what with the hundreds of people, the deafening music, the free-flowing alcohol and the occasional glittered spectacle walking by, he hadn’t quite been able to stop himself from craning his neck, searching for his errant band mate. 

It’s the habit of a lifetime, at this point, keeping half an eye on Freddie, and however much he’s ever rolled his eyes at collecting a falling-down-drunk Freddie from the bar or the gutter, he’s always enjoyed being the one to pick him up again. And besides, Brian’s not over the novelty of having him back yet.

He leaves it five minutes, makes a couple more rounds and sips down another couple of the crystal champagne flutes that seem to keep finding their way into his hands as he passes through the crowds, then follows.

The noise of the party muffles as he shuts the door behind him, music dimming to a background roar amongst the laughter and the occasional cheer when someone remembers they’ve something to be celebrating rather than just getting off-their-tits hammered. Brian’s had a fair amount to drink already, and thus has to focus a little harder walking across the concrete in his new shoes than he had when he’d put the damn things on at the beginning of the night. The last thing he wants is to turn an ankle in these heels, and _ especially _ not these fishnets - he can picture the headlines already.

“Oh, god, darling, be _ careful _ in those!” Comes from the dark, and something moves, the burning tip of a cigarette gestured a little frantically, movements a little wide from liquor, and Brian’s eyes adjust to the light of the one solitary streetlamp over the way to find Freddie beckoning him over to a small alcove, out of the smoking garden proper, where he’s leant against the dark brick.

One of Freddie’s little hideaways. Freddie always has a few bolt-holes squirrelled away, for when the world becomes too much, when being Freddie Mercury takes a little more than he has to give.

He grabs Brian’s hand once he gets close enough, pulls him into the small space with him, and Brian stumbles over a crack in the paving. “Oh, fuck it.” Brian reaches blindly in the dark to tug off the heels, hooking his fingers into the backs so as not to lose them, and hisses a little as his feet finally flatten back onto the, very cold, floor.

Freddie tips his head back, takes a slow, considering drag of his cigarette. “You know, I don’t think you got any shorter then, darling.”

“Fuck you, these are six inches.”

“Oh, _ my_.” Freddie grins impishly, and Brian steals the cigarette from his hand. He doesn’t do this often, but it _ is _ a party after all.

“I keep thinking about the fucking shoot tomorrow,” Freddie says, laughing a little, taking it back. His body is a loose, unwound thing against the wall, his blinks a little slow. “What was I _ thinking_, planning a music video after all this?”

“Probably that you didn’t want to pay for your director to have _ another _ night at the Hilton. Kill two birds with one gay club.”

“Goodness, he’s in there getting _ fucked _ as well, isn’t he?” Freddie covers his eyes, with giggling groan, all at his own expense. “It’s all going to be an utter _ disaster_.”

“_Nah_,” Brian disagrees lightly, lifting the cigarette back from Freddie’s fingers. “You’ll pull it off. You always do.”

“Well, the whole album is a _ flop _ so it would make sense-” 

“Fred, it’s not a flop-” 

“Oh, darling, it’s fine, I know what you all think of the thing.” And there’s no hint of bitterness in Freddie’s face, even as he points the cigarette at Brian, mouth twitching as he hides a smile. “Answer me honestly, is there even a single song you like?”

“_Born to Love You_,” Brian says, without even needing to think about it. 

Freddie’s voice on that song is an absolute dream, clear and powerful, and Brian is _ itching _ to get his hands on the track, to strip it back to the ballad it should have been, would have been if Freddie had come to _ him _ with that song. It’s nowhere near his biggest of regrets of the past two years, but still.

They’re back in the studio next week, Roger and Deaky flying out as soon as families allow, and maybe they won’t get to work on that song but, high on the success of Live Aid, they’ll work on _ something _ again.

Freddie blinks at the speed of Brian’s answer, at the fact that he answered at all, and flushes a little in the dark.

They don’t speak for a little while after that, passing the last of the cigarette back and forth between them until the cherry burns red against Freddie’s knuckles and he tosses the thing into the dark. It’s the cue to go back inside, to the guests and the fun, but neither of them move.

It’s dangerous work, this close to Freddie, champagne in his veins and smoke in his head. It always has been.

“You don’t want to head back in?” Brian asks, voice low. He’s fallen closer to Freddie, hand resting on the wall by his shoulder, could blame it on the drink or the dark or some fateful combination of the two, and doesn’t blame it on either. “No fun out here, surely?”

“Well, I can hardly leave you standing out here in your fishnets, dear.” 

And Brian saw the way Freddie looked at him in his fishnets, the delighted shock that Brian hadn’t chickened out at the last second and switched his heels for white trainers and his dress for black jeans. He’d also seen the way Freddie had flushed at the way the slit of the dress had risen all the way to the top of his thigh, and had realised how much he missed seeing Freddie look at him like that. 

“And here’s me without even a birthday present for you.”

“You in those shoes were gift enough, darling,” Freddie laughs, tipping his head to smile fondly up at Brian, which Brian has missed even more. 

Then he makes a _ tch _ noise, pushes a little at Brian’s chest. “_Oh_, what could you possibly give me that I don’t already have?” He asks, so Brian kisses him like it’s the answer, like it’s the only answer he has. 

It’s a _ good _ kiss, if Brian says so himself. Firm and unmistakable for what what it is; intent. 

Freddie opens his mouth to it, instantly, and Brian gives a small groan as he presses closer, slips his tongue inside for the briefest second before pulling back. His eyes have fully adjusted to the dark now; he can see all of Freddie, from his wide eyes to his still open, pink mouth, can see the way he’s looking at him right now. The way he always has. 

He drops his shoes, good riddance, and cups Freddie’s face in his hands, kissing him again before either of them can think about anything other than the heat of their mouths, the press of their bodies, the small noises they make in the quiet of the night, because this, _ this _, was his biggest regret in Freddie walking away.

“How about that?” He asks, when they’ve finally drawn apart again, and there’s a tremor in his voice not entirely due to Freddie’s mouth. Brian has back more than he ever thought he would again and he could lose all of it in a night. 

Or he could get everything he’s been denying himself since he was twenty two.

Freddie takes a shaky breath. “Much better than the three inch heels, darling.” And Brian laughs in relief, in joy, in the sheer fucking impossibility of it.

“Six.”

“_Liar_.”

“Happy birthday,” Brian says, and kisses him again.


End file.
